


We don't match on paper (but it don't mean a thing)

by SatanInACroptop



Series: Carry It With No Regrets [4]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Fluff and thats it, Good! Peter, M/M, No Smut, actual healthy relationship, and the one about the OTP post Manda put on tumblr, bite me I want a million fics just like this and YOU CANT STOP ME, but thats this entire series so get caught up already, no sex this time this is just the one with fluff, rated mature for nudity, which is actually from Alias but NO ONE ELSE GETS THAT because I am old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:50:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,148
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508491
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SatanInACroptop/pseuds/SatanInACroptop





	We don't match on paper (but it don't mean a thing)

 

Sometimes, Peter can actually be very easily transparent.

The monster of the week is particularly, catastrophically messy. When met with it's own form of allergen (which this week happened to be St. John the Conquerors Root of all things) had a tendency to explode violently in putrid brick colored slime. Stiles was very proud of himself for not puking, and still has no idea how he is going to clean out Rosco in the morning.

Peter suggests as he unlocks the door to his apartment that Stiles simply take out all of the seats and have them replaced. Stiles arches an eyebrow and asks if he looks like he's made of money.

Peter huffs as he pulls off his cardigan, his favorite goddamn cardigan, and throws it into the trashcan in the kitchen.

"Not dressed like that you don't. Though, money doesn't change everyone."

His jeans quickly follow suit, as do his boxers, socks, and even shoes. They reek to Stiles human nose, he can only imagine how much Peter is internally gagging. Stiles follows suit, with the exception of the shoes, which he leaves on the tile in the kitchen in hopes that a good scrub with Dawn in the kitchen sink will save them yet. If it removes oil from cute little ducklings, monster slime from his favorite Vans skate shoes shouldn't be a problem.

Even with the high reserve at Peter's luxury apartment and the multiple jets of the shower, it still takes all of the hot water to banish the slime for good. Weirdly enough, it had turned to almost a glue like substance in their hair.

"At least you didn't wolf out," Stiles says as he towels off, "Imagine if you had gotten it in your werewolf sideburns."

 It is only as Stiles is completely dried off, his damp hair sticking up in places that he realizes the only clothes he had on him are now in the trash. Shit.

Peter laughs at his distress. He's allowed to now. It's been nearly 8 months.

"Are you truly unaware of your innate ability to leave at least one article of clothing here every time you stay over? There are clothes for you in the bedroom."

Stiles sighs a breath of relief, even as Peter is wrapping his still very warm from the shower body around Stiles. The skin to skin contact is equally exhilarating and relieving, to feel his lover's body hot against him and know he's there, he's there. They have survived another day.

"Not that you'll be needing any tonight, will you?"

Stiles doesn't even have to think about it. He's not driving home. He's bone tired and in want of nothing more than naked cuddles in Peter's cloud of a bed.

"Definitely not. You'd have to kick me out."

Peter has never kicked Stiles out once.

Stiles takes that sudden knowledge in stride, leaning around to give Peter a gentle kiss before dragging his limbs the few feet down the hall to the bedroom. It’s only because he turns on the light to plug his phone in to charge that he sees it.

There, on what was an empty wall save for two paintings of the Beacon Hills Preserve by artist unknown, is a small but expensive looking dresser. It's not terribly tall, or terribly long. It's sleek and simple and perfectly matches the room.

"I've seen your closet enough times to know that you don't need a dresser," Stiles snorts. He turns to climb into bed, but he doesn't make it before Peter is there at his side. His slender fingers wrap around one bony hip easily. Stiles wonders if there are impressions there, like the rubber grips on bicycle handles, where Peter's fingertips perfectly fit.

"No, I don't. Open it."

Stiles looks at him quizzically, an eyebrow reaching up his forehead, but he does so without question. In the top drawer, at about chest height, are a few of Stiles t-shirts, a couple flannels, and the red hoodie he hasn't seen in weeks. On top of the hoodie is a silver key.

Stiles nearly falls on his ass with the weight of it all.

Peter has made a space for Stiles. Peter has taken his very private and very sacred space which he hoards from the entire pack, even though he loves them in his own way, and made a space for Stiles.

Peter has now given Stiles access to this space whenever he wants.

"Oh my god."

"It dawned on me that I had yet to give you a key. Then I realized that the most widely accepted first step in such proceedings was a drawer."

Stiles turns to face him. The fact that the sight of Peter naked in the soft yellow light of the bedside lamp doesn't undo his entire train of thought says a lot. His mouth still waters though, only a little. But still-

"...an entire dresser?"

Peter shrugs, as if the notion of keeping Stiles here, permanently here, is a shruggable thing.

"I was all out of drawers."

Stiles huffs, pushing a hand through his damp hair.

"...yeah your closet is pretty tightly packed."

Stiles takes the key without further preamble, and puts it on his ring on the nightstand, next to his phone and wallet. He pulls the covers over himself and Peter, and turns off the light.

Peter thinks that’s that. That maybe for once Stiles won't make a big deal out of nothing.

Stiles wraps around Peter like an octopus clinging for life against a raging sea, and nuzzles into his chest hair like a cat demanding attention. He should find it ridiculous. He should chastise him for being so foolish, like Peter wouldn't give him those things eventually at any given rate. He should not find it to be so heartwarming that he contemplates throwing the sheets off and making love to him, even though they're both battle worn and wiped out.

"Peter-"

"Go to sleep, Stiles," he grumbles, but Stiles can tell he isn't annoyed. He can hear the soft smile even though he can't see it from where he's half on top of Peter's very warm chest.

"Thank you for letting me in."

There are fingers tipping Stiles’ chin up, warm lips moving against his with more passion than either of them really have the energy for, but they can always kiss. They always have the energy for this. Peter's tongue traces the arch of his mouth before he pulls away. Stiles knows he's still looking at him, because his eyes are glowing. Maybe it’s a territorial thing.

"Thank you for staying," he says, leaning down to place one last kiss in Stiles wet hair, before falling back into the pillows.

_A key. Peter has given him a key to his wolf den._

Stiles thinks he'll be the only person not complaining about monster slime tomorrow morning.

 


End file.
